Poetry for the Jealous Angel
by The newbie phan
Summary: Is it true that one must appreciate the little things? A man forms a dream out of his nightmare-ish mind. He got the life he longed for since childhood, through a mistake. Love is a curious thing indeed! Hope, hope may be the start of true love, though. That, is known. E/C, Some Poetry, Kay based.


A/N: Hi there guys! So, we always read and see Erik deep into his music, but I realized, HE IS ARTISTIC IN EVERY WAY… Therefore, I gave him a bit of a poetic moment here. I love writing poetry, so I decided that this would be a good thing for a story opportunity to get a bit of intellectual thought out on the site. Lolz! Okay, so I hope you enjoy this shrimpy little thing of a one-shot. Please READ AND REVIEW! ;)

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Poetry for the Jealous Angel

**ERIK'S POV:**

As I waited anxiously to begin our lesson for today, I got lost in a poetic frenzy. I always turned to my music to get feelings off my chest, but my organ desperately needed tuning, therefore leaving me to my lead and parchment. I decided to write about my little angel of music and how she changed my dark world. I was feeling very dramatic for some reason today. Probably because my opera, 'Don Juan Triumphant', was coming to a close. I was going to find some grievance to throw it on Moncharmin and Andres' desk, but then I actually realized the true danger that lay within my life's work. CHRISTINE COULD _NEVER_ HEAR THAT! It would drive me to the ends of sanity, and into uncontrollable lust and I can't seem to get a hold on my emotions anymore. It would steal every virtue and ounce of innocence in her tiny little body! No. And after my decision was made final in my head, I left the thought to concentrate on the paper in front of me. So, I began to jot down every emotion pertaining to the topic to the now magical lead that lay within my long, skeletal fingers.

_My mind is a black, heavily wooded forest._

_A dense wall of petrified and numbingly terrifying, yet serene mystery._

_The trees are made up of the despair and wasted tears of the dark world that had tortured me._

_The jet, marble, thick, wooden trunks made of the stony solitude and discontent of my own history._

_The misted ground lay beneath my feet but I am still flying._

_Hovering on the fog of my own lost causes and the souls I have so damaged._

_The never ending sky above my mutilated crest, set gray by indifference, cruelty and false hopes…_

_Unfulfilled dreams…_

_There is now but one star in my sky of gloom, despair and hopeless longing._

_A miniscule speck of light._

_This is my new reason to carry on._

_This is my new hope._

_I'm not so hopeless anymore…_

_This is hope of a miracle long-awaited by the dying canopies of the eternally winter-trodden trees._

_Hope of an angel…_

_A path appears and splits my demented wasteland in two,_

_Just as Moses divided the sea in his act of god's will._

_In my mind I alone am god in this doomed Eden._

_But the light grows larger and larger,_

_And leads me to the base of immense, endless wonder._

_I climb the gargantuan form and the light disappears._

_Numb disappointment and raw negative energy flows from my very being._

_But the light reappears in the center of the dead leaves of my remorseful sorrow._

_Glowing brighter than ever before._

_Then, the very shell of the black cloud of dark tree-tops before me, _

_Seemed to split and splinter and dissolve into slender, baige crisscross patterns across the wood._

_The earth beneath my cold feet turned into an endless expanse of crisp green carpets._

_I begin to hover down to the base of my newly discovered mountain. _

_My forest still remains a dense fog of dull, ominous loneliness._

_The bark upon the trunks are cracked though it seems._

_I pluck scab after scab of charred lumber and I see the beauty underneath._

_The façade CAN be broken!_

_While uncovering approximately half of my mausoleum of a conscience,_

_I recall every whipping, side-glance and comment, and chipped it off as though it never happened._

_Yes, in my own Eden, I alone was god,_

_And I was free to mold my extensive imagination into shapes not yet named, _

_And thrust it into the soil of my mind._

_Every negative component has been put forth at the base of my mountain,_

_And burned in the giant hearth in which presented such bright intensity,_

_That I easily could have taken the light-stained ashes of the broken past,_

_And create gold forms out of the deepest crevices of my imagination and call them monuments_

_In the name of beauty._

_And thus I began my revelation._

_But not even god could have made heaven without his angels._

_And in my little world, I learned that to distinguish the darkness,_

_I first had to discover the light._

_The guardian angel._

_And that light, that angel, was you._

_-Erik…_

Ahhh… Refreshingly cryptic. Christine's lesson! I got to get to the mirror!

I sprint up the hundreds of stairs in under 3 minutes I was so late. Well, this makes me a hypocrite. I always harp on poor little Christine on punctuality, and here I am, nearly ten minutes late. Just perfect. PHEW! I'm here. I must make my presence known…

I slide through the mirror door into her dressing room.

"Christine, darling, are you ready for your lesson?"

"Oh, yes, maestro. I am ready. Let us go…"

And so we journey down into the fifth cellar, enter my home, and start our lesson.

After the 4 hours of _ll Muto_ and _Faust _scores_ ,_ we begin to loosen up. Our lesson is over, but she always insists on keeping me company, "For it can get quite lonesome down here, I'm sure…" she says.

How adorable. It makes me smile just to see that she cares for me.

I excuse myself to go and put away the scores and scripts, and she made herself right at home. I stashed the papers in my cabinet in the side of my organ. I come back into the living room, to find my angel on the edge of her seat, brows furrowed, frown set deeply into her rosy lips. _HUNCHED OVER MY POEM!_ I may have written it for her, but I was waiting for the right time! She shouldn't have seen it yet! I became a stuttering mess and try to snatch it away but for once, she dodges my attempt and ceases my mad dash to hide the page.

"Erik, you never told me you had a… Lady friend… Who?"

She looks as though she's on the verge of tears! Why? I know not. Maybe she has been around me too long…

"Erik, who is this woman?"

She repeats herself… Is this… Is this _jealousy?_ No. Surely not. She has no feelings for me except for a friend and confidant. After all, she only just saw my true form. She's known I'm an actual man for what… Two weeks? Or even maybe just shy of that…

"It's… It's… *Sigh* You…"

OH MY GOOD GOD IN HEAVEN! WHY DID I JUST SAY THAT?! NOW SHE'LL SURELY HATE YOU, YOU BLOODY FOOL!

She is frozen where she stands. A crimson red bleeding across her porcelain cheeks, all down her neck…

Oh god, she probably thinks I'm hitting on her or something. Well, Erik, your goose is cooked! She must be horribly furious to be turning the vibrant red that she is… Well, I'll probably going to have a huge chunk of my full-faced mask gone from where she strikes me… Here it comes…

"Erik… Erik, this is beautiful… This is for me? I am really your angel? Your light? And… You poor man, you lived through such travesty… Erik, I love it… I love… You…"

I've caught her in a swoon-and-faint-situation on more than one occasion, and I was almost convinced she'd have to return the favor… I tried to keep what nerve I had left, and replied like a man…

"You… do? So, you WERE jealous? You thought that I loved someone else? Ha! Ange, I'd never."

So much for a manly, dignified response. At least I got her to laugh… Her laugh… Other than her voice, her laugh is my favorite sound.

"Well… I, no, I… *Ugh*, yes, maybe I was a _little_ jealous…"

And thus begun my dream. I courted Christine, eventually proposed to her, and started a family. Our eldest child was the most brilliant young man. His name was Charles. All because of jealousy over a poem. Who would've thought, eh? Maybe there is a god… And I owe him a thousand apologies…

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A/N: So that is my extremely short one-shot. How did I do? I also need an opinion on something. You know, writer-to-writer? I've had a TON of crazy ideas for stories, so I wrote them all down (BTW, these are real stories, not one-shots.) and now when I actually look at my list, I'm having a mental fit trying to know which one I should do first! I was wondering if any of you guys had experience in the matter and would be awesome and give me a few tips? Thanks to those lovelies who read, and hopefully review, and might give me a bit of help. G'night, ya'll! ;D

-Your obedient servant,

TNP

(REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW… You know you want tooooooo…)


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